“I like us, too,” Mikey says.
I take his hand again and squeeze it.
Here’s the thing. Ben was my big Broadway love story. But I was sixteen. That’s just what falling in love at sixteen feels like. Just because it’s different now doesn’t make it less real.
I study Mikey’s face for a moment. “Okay, I want to show you something. I was going to wait to surprise you in New York, but . . .”
I stand, stretch, and quickly tug my shirt down, winning a fleeting smile from Mikey. My messenger bag’s propped against the edge of my bookcase, packed and ready. I grab it and bring it back to the bed, unzipping the smaller front pouch.
Mikey watches me curiously.
“Wait for it . . .” I root around until I find a short stack of paper, folded in thirds. Then I pass it straight to Mikey, who hesitates. I nudge him. “Open it.”
He does, and then pulls the papers closer to read, his eyes going huge behind his glasses. “Wait, for real?”
“Two weeks from tomorrow. It’s the matinee. But the seats are terrible, just so you know.”
Mikey stares at me, dumbfounded. “We’re seeing Six?”
“We’re seeing Six!”
“Arthur, that’s—it’s too expensive. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to say sorry for ruining our summer—”
“You didn’t ruin it.”
“I did.” I lean my head on his shoulder. “And I wanted to do something special, you know? For us.”
“Arthur.” His voice sounds choked.
“And it wasn’t expensive,” I say quickly, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “I mean, it was, but I get a discount. Internship perk.”
“Why don’t they skip the discount and raise your stipend?”
“Doesn’t work like that.” I kiss his cheek. “Sorry, you’re just going to have to suck it up and see the best show on Broadway with me. And you know what?”
His lips tug up. “What?”
“You were right. I do need a tie. Chad from corporate is going to Broadway.” I stand again, scanning the room. “Now I just have to figure out where I packed them.”
“Cardboard box by your desk. Label says Arthur: Fancy.”
My hands fly to my heart. “You made me a fancy box?”
“I did.” He looks at me for a moment, smiling faintly. Then he stands, grabbing his shirt off the floor. “Okay, how about you finish up? I’ll go drop off my key and grab us some food on the way back?”
“Mikey Mouse, you’re my hero.” Even after he leaves, I can’t help but smile at the door.
But a moment later, I reach for my phone.
@ben-jamin liked your photo.
Apparently my heart’s going for a jailbreak from my rib cage. Over an Instagram notification. It’s the most ridiculous thing.
But I tap the notification, and moments later, I’m staring at my official New York announcement post from last week. It’s a selfie where I’m holding a postcard of Central Park, the one Ben gave me the last time we saw each other in person. There’s even a handwritten Ben-Jamin and Arturo scene on the back. But of course, the only person who would possibly recognize the postcard ignored the post entirely, like he always does.
Liked by @ben-jamin and others.
Until now. The day before I leave for New York.
Chapter Three
Ben
Sunday, May 17
The best thing about Pa being my boss is that now I get paid when he tells me what to do.
I’ve been able to put my Duane Reade checks toward what I hope will be my next job—mega-best-selling author of The Wicked Wizard War—by buying a writing program to help me keep all my world-building thoughts organized, and purchasing the domain name for the series website. I’m dreaming big here, but Mario has been an excellent hype-man, saying that my series could be the next big thing. It would be epic to have a franchise of movies, and I can write spin-off comics and play video games set in my world. And of course Pa and Ma won’t have to work anymore if they don’t want to, even though I’d love to boss Pa around at my eventual amusement park.
But until then, Pa hands me a basket of pregnancy tests and condoms. “Here’s some more for this aisle.”
“Shouldn’t condoms go elsewhere? Let’s create a Not-Family Planning section.”
“By all means, go for it. I’m sure corporate wants all their floor plans restructured by their new manager’s nineteen-year-old son.”